Letters to My Enemy
by CelestialGolden
Summary: In the middle of the war, one man seizes the chance to be good. In an effort to pay for his past mistakes, he turns the tide of the war in his favor and hopes to have a chance at redemption. Prequel to upcoming story Letters to My Beloved. Future Dramione.


Letters to My Enemy

By: CelestialGolden

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, the pairings would all be different.

—

Draco Malfoy had always had a way with words. As a child, young and eager to please his racist and haughty father, he had used that talent to cut down those his father had taught him were beneath him. As a teenager, he used it to gather information and convince people to join his side of the upcoming war. Now, Draco Malfoy had little use for words. He rarely opened his mouth these days, hadn't picked up a quill in months, and the only sounds to reach his ears other than his Aunt Bella's cruel taunts and his mother's sweet, but uncharacteristically cruel, tones were the screams of those being tortured in his drawing room.

This was not the world that he wanted. He regretted every step that he had taken to bring this world about- every cruel taunt that had slashed at the spirit of those he hoped were strong enough to end this war. His anger at himself festered in his chest, roiled in his stomach until he hadn't eaten more than a few bites in weeks. His face looked like a skeleton or a ghost in the mirror. HIs life was meaningless, and he only continued to live it in the hopes that his mother would be released when it was over. He prayed that she would be spared by the Order of the Phoenix. At the same time, he hoped he wouldn't be.

A crow landed on the sill of the open window, and he held out a bit of bread from his untouched plate. The bird reached for it, gobbling up the morsel greedily, as Draco softly pet its sleek feathers. It did not call out or make a sound, simply waited for another bit of food. Draco sighed softly and gave it another bit of bread. It flew up and landed on his shoulder, resting there as though it were completely natural. Draco had been grooming this bird for a while, getting close to it and making it trust him. He wasn't sure why, only that he needed to know that there was at least one living being in this world that did not think him an untouchable monster. The crow's name was Ichabod, he had decided, and he hoped at least this one creature would make it through the war unscathed.

Another cry pierced the silence, punctuated by raucous laughter. He closed his eyes against the view of the grey sky outside his window and remembered the kindness that was once shown to him by his former classmate- the one screaming for help as his Aunt cast the _Cruciatus_ curse on her over and over again. Back at Hogwarts, in sixth year, he had forgotten to do his potions assignment, of all things, in his distraction. The task that the Dark Lord had set upon him had drawn all of his attention the night before, his attempts at mending the vanishing cabinet making little progress as the end of the year approached and the pressure was immense. His father's words had echoed in his head all night, reminding him what a disappointment he was, that he was too soft to be any son of his, and he hadn't gotten so much as a wink of sleep. The Ravenclaw girl next to him, Luna Lovegood, had quickly spelled a copy of her own homework and slid it over to him. He looked at her in surprise, and she said in her gentle tone "even big bad Slytherins have bad days. It seems yours is a doozy, Draco Malfoy." She had then given him a small smile and turned back to the front of the class.

Snape had known immediately that it wasn't his work, and he'd been suitably reprimanded, but he was grateful for her kindness. Two years earlier, he might have scorned her for being a 'blood traitor,' or even openly mocked her in class for trying to even speak to him. In that moment, though, he was just a kid with the weight on his shoulders, and she was a friend trying to lighten the load by a pound or two. Now his heart clenched in his chest as her screams suddenly stopped. He only released his breath when he heard his aunt command the house elves to take her down to the dungeons. So she wasn't dead, just passed out. He wasn't sure if he was glad or not. Her death would have meant an escape from the torture that was sure to continue once she awoke. It had been weeks, but she had yet to break.

He managed to hold back a flinch as his door burst open and Ichabod made a startled exit through his window, his Aunt walking in cheerfully and slightly out of breath- as though her husband had just taken her out dancing instead of having just spent the last 3 hours torturing a young witch for no reason. "Ah, Draco! The Dark Lord has a mission for me today. I don't suppose you want to come along?" She asked, running the tip of her wand along his cheek as he did his best to appear unafraid of her. He looked into her eyes, a stormy grey like his, but could not abide the insanity reflected in them. He didn't answer her, but turned back to the window. She tutted, running her fingers through his now rather long blonde hair. "Oh, dear boy, I thought not. Miss your mummy, do you? She's well taken care of, don't you worry. I'll make sure she gets to come see you tonight." She laughed and disapparated with a pop.

This was his chance.

This was the first time since he was brought here- the first time in over 3 months- that he was left alone at the manor. He knew where his mother was being held, but he didn't know what sort of enchantments were on her room. He could escape with her! He could plead her case to the Order, and he could finally stop being a slave to Voldemort. The only reason that he was still serving the sick, twisted madman was because his mother's life depended upon it.

Knowing he had no time to waste, Draco leapt down the stairs and flew through the corridors to his mother's rooms, his trousers nearly falling off his bony hips as he ran. He reached the door and held up his hands, expecting there to be some sort of enchantment on it. There was a small wall, but the enchantment was old and weak- his aunt must have forgotten to renew the spell before she left for her mission. He pushed through it with a 'pop' and opened the ornate white door.

"Mother?" He called, looking around the room for her. He expected her to be sitting on her reading chair, reading her favorite book of poems, or perhaps sleeping in her bed. What he found was a lump of his mother's favorite robes in the corner. The light from outside was faint and grey, the curtains drawn so that he could see very little. He reached out his hand to touch hers, calling "Mother" again softly, in case she was sleeping. His hand met cold, stiff skin, and a gasp wrung itself from his throat. "Lumos!" He whispered frantically, his mother was obviously sick and the silence was deafening. She needed help right away! She needed-

A strangled sob forced its way from his throat as he looked upon the empty eyes of his mother. She was not sick- she was long dead. A charm had been cast upon her body to prevent her from decomposing in a messy way, but she had been dead for months. She was probably dead before he had even raised his wand against Dumbledore. He sank to his knees, pulling her body to him and sobbing into her hair. He would give anything for her to wake, to wrap her arms around him again and tell him that it was all going to be okay. How? How was she so long dead when he had only seen her three days prior? She looked as healthy as ever, if not a bit thinner than normal. He peered around the room and his gaze landed on a small cauldron, bubbling with a foul-smelling liquid that he almost immediately recognized as polyjuice potion.

He gasped and felt his hands begin to shake. His father must have known! He retired to this room daily, to say goodnight to his mother before going out once again on another mission to serve the Dark Lord. His father must know that his mother was dead- and yet he played along. Was this all some sort of cruel joke? Here he was, serving a man he despised all to save a woman who was already dead! He did not know what to do- but he had to get out of here. He placed his mother back against the wall, just the way he had found her, and closed the door behind him. He replaced the enchantments that he had destroyed, making sure they looked identical to his aunt's signature, and then he fled to his room.

Like a scared child, he threw himself onto his bed and cried. He wailed and sobbed and did not care who heard him- this house was no stranger to misery. The only person who had ever loved him was dead. His father knew and was willing to give the life of his wife- the mother of his child- for this cause and didn't blink an eye. If Draco had ever really believed he was on the right side of the war, he would have been convinced of his error in that moment. It was only when he heard the snatchers return and Voldemort's cruel laughter echoed to his ears, that Draco realized that he could not be found this way- he had to appear as he had before. He threw himself into his shower, turning the water scalding hot and then cold to pull the puffiness from his eyes. He was enslaved still, as he would die immediately if they knew that he had discovered his mother's fate, but in a way he was free. The worst they could do was kill him, and Draco Malfoy had been long dead inside. He had felt all the good parts of his soul leave him as he had held his wand against Dumbledore. Though it was Snape's curse that had killed him, it was Draco's eyes that had held him captive. It was his own fault that Dumbledore didn't defend himself.

Draco dressed and did everything he could to appear normal, knowing that his aunt would soon visit him, though until today he had believed the twice weekly visits were from his mother, Narcissa.

As she came to him that night wearing his mother's face, he understood now why he hadn't quite felt as close to the only person who had ever really loved him these past few months. Instead of the steady strength he had once found in her eyes, he now saw clearly the insanity that lay in his Aunt Bellatrix's gaze, something even polyjuice could not disguise. Instead of the fear and cowardice that had ruled him for years, Draco felt a deep and abiding rage ignite within him. Voldemort had commanded that she find a way to use him, and his psychopath of an aunt had delivered. She had killed his mother and enslaved him with her memory- with her face. He could not fight through the fear, but this anger- this absolute burning rage, he could fuel himself with. It did not matter what his own fate would be. Voldemort would not win this war. He would lose, and he would die to that Prince of the Gryffindors, Harry Potter. And Draco? Well, he would instantly be killed for his betrayal.

His aunt, who did not know him nearly so well as she imagined, did not pick up on the sudden fire in his eyes or the malice in his tone. She simply bid him goodnight, asked him to give his mummy a kiss, and returned to the room where she had hidden her polyjuice potion and her sister's corpse.

Draco, on the other hand, sat at his writing desk and took out a parchment and a quill and began to write, elegant strokes on the parchment only stoking the flames of his anger. It was not a long note, but it would be enough to catch attention from the only witch he knew who would check out the tip 'just to be safe.' He quickly spelled the parchment to hide his handwriting before standing and listening carefully to the sounds of the house. Voldemort's ranting and the screams of a prisoner could be heard. It would be hours yet before all was quiet enough for anyone to hear anything going on in his room. He opened his window and Ichabod lit softly upon it, looking up at him with curious eyes. He squawked softly when Draco tied his note to his foot with a green ribbon, looking surprised but not afraid. He was rewarded with another piece of bread. Draco spoke softly. "Ichabod, this note must make it to Hermione Granger. I do not know where she is, only that she is on the run. Find her."

At that, Ichabod flew off into the night, the moonlight glinting off of his sleek feathers.

—

Hermione slumped tiredly against the foot of the bed, the heat from the fireplace warming her long-frozen limbs and filling her with warmth and tingly discomfort. She flexed her fingers and closed her eyes, focusing on the warmth of the fireplace and trying to block out the less than pleasant aspects of Grimmauld Place. This house seriously creeped her out and, despite knowing it was safe, she could never quite let her guard down fully while they rested here. The Order had no means of communicating with each other- the only friendly faces she had seen in months were Harry and Ron. They came here every few weeks, hoping to meet up with someone or that there would be a message left behind for them. No such luck thus far.

This hunt for the Horcruxes was slowly tearing their small group apart. Harry and Ron were constantly at each other's throats, and she wasn't sure what they were going to do. None of them had any sort of plan, any idea where to go next, and the boys looked to her as if she was some sort of expert on reading the future. They knew divination wasn't her thing!

A muttering of "filthy mudblood" from one of the portraits had her flicking her wand sharply, turning the bloody thing to face the wall for, hopefully, the rest of time. God, she hated this house. How the hell were they to know that she wasn't a pureblood, based solely on her looks?

Oh, right. She was wearing muggle clothes. They were torn and dirty, no amount of cleansing and mending charms could truly make them feel comfortable again. It'd been weeks since she had a proper wash- not just a spine-wrenchingly cold sponge bath at the edge of a frozen lake. She walked to the ensuite and turned on the shower, sighing as the steam soothed her dry sinuses. She'd been having nosebleeds for weeks. This prolonged camping trip sucked.

That's what she tried telling herself. If she acknowledged on a daily basis that this "camping trip" was a desperate and blind search for horcruxes on which the fate of the world hinged, she would fall apart. The pressure was too much. She missed her mum and dad. Getting into the shower and closing her eyes, she imagined she was back home in her parent's house, washing up after returning from school for break. Soon the smell of her mum's pot roast and her father's strong coffee would drift into the room, and she would go out to join them in the dining room, laughing and joking as they once did. Perhaps Ron and Harry would be with her- they loved her parents, too.

A cackle from above broke her out of her fantasy, her frustration was great enough that she turned the blasted portrait wandlessly. Who put bloody sentient portraits in the bathroom, anyway? She finished her washing hastily, putting on the cleanest set of clothes she had and putting the others into a pile to take downstairs. She would do all their washing tomorrow and they would head out once more.

A tapping sounded on the window, startling her and making her heart pound wildly. Mail was not supposed to come to this house. It wasn't even supposed to be found! It was enchanted against witches, wizards, owls, cats, and even toads! Making sure her towel covered all the important bits, she called for Harry and Ron. She felt the floor vibrate with the weight of their combined frantic steps and she realized that she should have been a bit more calm about her call as they burst through the door, equal expressions of panic on their faces.

"What's wrong, Hermione?" Harry asked, wand at the ready and green eyes scanning the room for threats. Ron was quiet, eyes averted with a bright red blush on his face. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. For goodness sakes, she'd treated a wound on his arse last week, surely by now they were over the naked shyness?

"There's something at the window. I didn't want to open it alone, just…just in case." She said softly, trying to see through the aged glass into the darkness outside to determine what it was.

The boys both turned their wands to the window, and she retrieved hers from the top of the toilet tank where she'd left it for her shower. The tapping was insistent, and she couldn't help the rush of adrenaline that came to her. Normally she would feel stupid for being afraid of something outside the window, but this was war, and who knew what sort of horror awaited on the other side of the glass.

Harry opened it softly, and all three of them jumped when a small crow hopped from the sill to the desk, examining them each with beady eyes before landing on her. It cawed softly and flew to the dresser so that it was eye level with her, sticking its small leg out towards her. She blinked. On its leg was a small piece of parchment, rolled and tied to the bird with a small green ribbon. Someone was using a crow as a messenger? She reached out to take it before both boys shouted in alarm.

"What if it's hexed?" Ron shouted, his wand pointed at the bird. The crow remained unruffled, its leg still stuck out impatiently.

Harry nodded. "It doesn't seem like a good idea to trust it." He said softly.

Hermione knew they were probably right, but her innate curiosity warred with her. What if it was a friend of theirs? Owls were always intercepted but nobody ever thought anything of a passing crow. This little message could be important. "I know we don't know who it's from, but what if it's someone else from the Order? They're the only ones who know about Grimmauld place."

"Mail still isn't supposed to come here. They know that. They'd send it somewhere else," Harry said, still eyeing the crow warily.

Hermione shook her head. "Where else would they send it? We're never in the same place more than once. This is the only constant place we visit."

Ron and Harry both looked at each other, as if trying to decide if they were going to let her open it or not. That look was one she was well familiar with- and she hated it. She was an adult, and they were not going to just tell her what she could and could not do! She reached out her hand and carefully untied the ribbon, ignoring the protests of her two best friends. She opened the note, gasping at what it said.

_Luna Lovegood is imprisoned at Malfoy Manor. _

_Trust no one who champions your cause- she is not the only prisoner to come here_

_They have ways of keeping people obedient_

Hermione read it several times before handing it to Harry. His eyes widened before darkening in familiar guilt. She knew it was no use to try and stop the wallowing- he would cycle back to determination soon. Ron's reaction was much more violent.

"Luna Lovegood? What the fuck has she ever done to anyone? We have to rescue her!"

Hermione shook her head. "How, Ron? We can't let Harry face You-Know-Who before he's ready! We have to destroy the rest of the horcruxes. Getting caught would be the end of it. The war lost, the chosen one dead, the Dark Lord wins, all because we reacted without thinking! We just need to figure out where the rest of the Horcruxes are!"

"What, and we are supposed to just let her die? We're supposed to just leave her there?" He asked, brows furrowing and cheeks reddening in anger.

"No, Ron. Luna was taken for a reason. That means her father knows something that we don't. He's loyal to our cause, but he's being blackmailed. We have to go see him and find out what he knows that we aren't supposed to know."

"Now THAT sounds like suicide, Hermione! Are you mad?" He asked, shoving Harry in the shoulder to pull him out of his guilt and into the conversation.

"Aren't we all just a little bit mad at this point? This is awful, Ron, and you know that I want to apparate straight to Malfoy Manor and save her, but we can't! We would risk everything. I would die for this cause. You know very well that Luna Lovegood would, too. We have to trust that she is strong and that whoever wrote this letter will try and keep her sane until Harry is ready."

None of them got much sleep that night, and she never ended up doing the washing. She rewarded the crow with a few stale crackers and wrote the only response she could think of.

_Who are you?_

—

Draco Malfoy began to eat again. For months he had gone without a purpose, only hoping that he would be killed before he could do anything that would turn the tide of the war in Voldemort's favor. Now he knew he was doing something right- fighting this war from the right side. He liked to think Dumbledore would have been pleased, but he knew deep in his heart that nobody would ever harbor anything but hatred for him. He was, after all, the reason Dumbledore himself was dead. He was the reason the war wasn't already over.

For this reason, he would give his life to right the wrongs. And he was righting them one letter at a time.

He attended the same meetings he always did, attempted for all his might to appear as gaunt and hollow as he ever was. His ears were open for secrets that would be useful to the Order of the Phoenix. He was careful to choose which secrets to divulge, mostly choosing ones that he wasn't meant to know. His aunt Bellatrix was as stupid as she was crazy- telling him things that he wasn't supposed to be privy to in her excitement to please the Dark Lord. He knew of attacks on muggleborns before they happened, and he heard the anger in Voldemort's voice as he used the Cruciatus on every single one of his followers when an attack was thwarted. The curse was agony, but he relished it. It was the punishment that he deserved.

Charms made his now filling cheeks appear bony and thin, and the muscle he was building was hidden under robes far too large for his frame. If he survived to see battle, he wanted to take as many down with him as possible. He always waited until he was excused for the night, when the tortured screams began, to write his letters to Granger. His previous state of mind served him well, as everyone suspected him far too weak to be the mole. He was never allowed to leave the manor, and he had no means of communication. Just as he had hoped, nobody ever looked twice at the little crow that faithfully returned every day for a piece of bread and some parchment to deliver.

She always asked who he was, but he never told her. It was months before he even gave her an inkling of his identity- when he was being trained by his aunt to fight in the final battle. He knew it would occur at Hogwarts, and how he longed to see the castle walls once more before his death. Between practicing the unforgivables, dueling, and hiding his treachery, Draco had very little time to mourn his fate. He only hoped to feel the safety he had felt as a child in the castle one more time.

Two nights before they were to leave for the battle, he received the only reply he ever got from Granger. He'd thrown a dozen of the same message into the fireplace.

_Who are you?_

For the first time ever, he responded.

_A man who has done far too many wrongs without enough years left in life to right them all. I do not want the world I fought for two years ago. I want the world you fight for. The one with hope._

Her response that came the next morning was surprising, but he knew that she would not have written it if she knew to whom she was writing.

_There is always time to right past wrongs. _

As the screams of those downstairs rose in volume before being snuffed out once by one, Draco allowed himself a moment to believe her. For just one precious second of his life, he contemplated the possibility that he could be saved. A final cry of _Avada kedavra_ from the drawing room and the loud thud of yet another life lost cast all that hope away instantly.

_There can be no redemption for me. There is only the end. I will fight for the Order, but I will not survive it. I will be killed for my betrayal and death will be my penance. _

_I will see you at Hogwarts tomorrow night. You will have a friend behind enemy lines, but I will not survive long. Be ready to strike when their backs turn. I will only be alive to distract them once. _

—

Draco Malfoy sat before the Wizengamot, making a case for his fate. He had managed to survive the final battle, had even saved a good few wizards while he was at it, but it was not enough for redemption. His lawyer claimed he was a good man- that he had been coerced into following Voldemort's orders with threats against his mother. While that was true, in the end, he didn't mention the years that Draco had firmly believed in his father's cause. As a teenager desperate for his father's approval, he had thrown his morals out the window and blindly followed a man who he had known wasn't good. How many witches and wizards had died because of his actions? Because of his cowardice?

He knew he deserved Azkaban, but he was selfish enough to hope he wouldn't get sent there. He was cowardly enough to hope that his sleazy lawyer would get him off- that he could live the rest of his life in relative peace. He never wanted to hear tortured screams again, but he knew that if he were sentenced to life in Azkaban, the screams would never stop. He wished for Ichabod, wanted to run his fingers over his feathers one last time. That bird had been his only friend for almost a year. Without a way to get messages to Granger, he would have died- wasted away into nothingness.

The Wizengamot returned to their seats, some familiar faces and some new muggleborn faces that Draco was sure would count against him. Before any of them could open their mouths, a door opened behind him, and in came Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. He stilled in his seat, not having set eyes on her since the day that she screamed in agony under his aunt's wand as he stood by, helpless to stop it. She was thinner than ever, eyes haunted and skin not as rosy as he remembered. Her hair even seemed to lack its trademark Granger-ness, laying limply and tame against her shoulders instead of the riotous curls he remembered from their school years. Potter didn't look much better.

He sat silently as they testified- not against him, but _for_ him. He couldn't have been more surprised by the kindness they showed him, how they believed he was good because he refused to identify them at the manor. They told the story of how he had saved Fred Weasley, how he'd blocked the curses that were meant to kill Nymphadora Tonks and Remus Lupin, how he had stopped his aunt from killing Neville Longbottom with a killing curse of his own. The only time he'd ever let the words _Avada kedavra_ leave his lips had been against his own aunt. They claimed he was saving Neville, but only he really knew that he had done it to avenge his mother. He was still haunted by nightmares of the life slipping from his aunt's eyes, and sometimes her body would turn into his mother on the way to the ground. He didn't sleep much.

He met Hermione's eyes as the Wizengamot announced their verdict.

"On the charge of terrorism and joining the Death Eaters, we find the defendant…Not guilty."

A hushed roar erupted throughout the room, magical quills from the reporters scratching wildly and cameras flashing. Draco could hardly believe what he was hearing. Not guilty? Did they know what he had done?

"On the charge of the use of an unforgivable curse, we find the defendant…Guilty. The murder, however justified, of Bellatrix Lestrange cannot go unpunished. Draco Malfoy is hereby required by the Wizengamot to attend a final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry under the watchful eye of Headmistress McGonagall. He will also be required to serve one year as an Auror for the ministry upon his graduation. He will report to the ministry weekly for drug testing and veritaserum interviews for two months, and then monthly until the end of his sentence. Mr Malfoy will retain all wealth from the Malfoy and Black estates, provided he pay reparations to the sum of three million galleons. You are dismissed."

She smiled at him and turned to leave.

He was _free_. What the hell was he going to do now?

—

AN: Hi all! Thanks for reading. This is my first foray into Harry Potter fan fiction, as I've always written for other fandoms despite being a Harry Potter fan since my 10 year old self first laid eyes on Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. This is meant to be a prequel one shot to a story I'm working on right now, called Letters to My Beloved. I will be posting chapter one soon! The pairing will eventually be Dramione. Let me know how you liked it!


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